


Light In The Night

by Karina



Category: Literary RPF
Genre: 1920s, Dream Sequence, Gen, Jazz Age, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 17:53:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13253520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karina/pseuds/Karina
Summary: Truman Capote has a recurring dream in which he is living in NYC in the 1920s. There, he goes to Great Neck to attend a party, and ends up meeting F. Scott Fitzgerald.





	Light In The Night

**1924 Great Neck, Long Island**

The sky had just started deepening to a navy blue, as the night started to fall .The party had started earlier, but I was in no hurry to get there first. If anything, it was better to join the party later when the spirits were high than in the beginning when the spirits were starting to flow. I was told that the mansion belonged to a so-and-so, but it didn’t matter who or when because there were always parties in Great Neck. Rather, there were always parties all over New York, in fact. I knew Scott Fitzgerald had lived in Great Neck, but I was not sure if I could catch a glimpse of him.

He and Zelda were like fleeting figures---if you did not see them directly, you were sure to run into someone who had. At the same time, you could look at any well-dressed couple and believe it was them and turn around to see merely a suited young man and a flapper wife. After taking a martini at my own apartment, I set about to Great Neck, to see what the party was about. Approaching the mansion, everything seemed to glitter. I don’t know if it was the alcohol, or the splendid lights illuminating everything, but it was exciting to see. ‘No wonder people say that this is where the best celebrities in New York congregate,’ I thought to myself.

I knocked on the door. Once. Twice. Three times. It was then when somebody had heard my knocks. I was worried if it was going to be Scott himself, but I was a bit dismayed when it was not Scott who had answered the door, but another young man. This young man was somewhat tall, with pale skin and delicate hands. He was bespectacled, and beneath the spectacles were a sharp gaze that radiated intelligence.

“Have you lost your way, little boy? Or are one of your parents here at this party?” he inquired to me.  
“I may be little, but I’m not a boy, you see. I’m Truman Capote and I heard there was a party, If this is invitation-only, I should be making my way soon,” I replied to him.

“You’re a rather interesting fellow. What do you do?” he asked me.  
“Oh, I’m a writer.”  
“I’m not sure if I’ve heard of your name, though.”  
My mind raced to find a suitable excuse.  
“I’m an aspiring writer,” I told him.

That seemed to get me inside the opulent mansion. It was nothing like I’d ever seen. The guests looked familiar but at the same time they looked like they were from a different period. Well, the women had short hair, which was in vogue back then. The host who had allowed me entry, came to me again.  
“There are some drinks and refreshments in the kitchen,” he told me.  
I made my way to kitchen to pick up another drink. I picked up a full martini glass, and was just about to leave when a slurred voice caught my ear.  
“Who invited a kid here? Look, kiddo. If you’re going to be here, I’d rather have you be with your parents.”  
“I’m not a child. In fact, I’m 24” I turned around and told the tall, dark-haired, and lanky man in defiance.  
The lanky man stared at me quizzically.  
“What are you doing in here, Ring?” another voice chimed in.  
I resisted the temptation to say that my name was not Ring.

I looked towards the other voice---that familiar face I’d only seen in the papers and magazines was staring at me crystal clearly.

“The kid says he’s 24. Thought he’d be about 12,” remarked the dark-haired man.  
“Ring, it’s OK. Let me talk to him,” the familiar face said.  
“I’m Scott. That was Ring Lardner, and he can be quite disagreeable when tight. Just don’t mind him,” he told me.  
My eyes were fixed on the golden hair, and soft gem-like blue eyes---he was a bit taller than me, though not as tall as Ring.  
“I’m Truman Capote. I’m a writer. Um, well, an aspiring one,” I told him.

“I’m a writer as well. I’m trying to write another novel,” Scott replied.  
I nodded.  
“Are you from the South? he asked me.  
“I was born in New Orleans, though I lived with relatives in Alabama,’ I replied to him.  
“My wife Zelda’s from Alabama,” Scott then said.  
“Yes,” I told him.

We headed out of the kitchen to sit on a plush sofa, which was big enough for multiple people. Numerous faces I didn’t recognize were on it, but there was one face that was recognizable as her drawl.  
“Zelda, this is Truman. He’s an aspiring writer,” Scott introduced me to her.  
Her face was youthful, with smouldering eyes and a hawk-like profile. Yet her profile softened as the words came out of her mouth in that nostalgic drawl.

“Hi, Zelda here. You arrived here from...where?” she asked.  
“New York City. But I was brought up in New Orleans and Alabama,” I replied.  
“Ohhh...Alabama….but you came here by yourself? Are you a bachelor?”  
I hesitated to answer her question directly, as I read somewhere that Scott referred to people like me as ‘fairies’.

“I like the freedom as a traveling bachelor. I enjoy being with people, for without people my writing would be so dull!” I exclaimed, looking at Scott.  
Scott nodded in approval.  
“There can be no story without characters.” he mused.


End file.
